


Crash Landing

by sciderman



Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, First Meetings, Hitchhiking, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciderman/pseuds/sciderman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Day 3 of Spideytorch Week. Just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill Hitchhiker AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash Landing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first shot at writing Spideytorch fanfiction, so, honestly, I'm fearful. Be gentle.

Well, here we are, Parker. Stranded on the side of a highway,  _ miles _ away from literally anywhere. You've been in some lousy situations before, but this is a new one. 

 

Crashed the car. My own fault. As is  _ everything _ . I’ve given up on trying to share the blame on  _ God,  _ or whatever deity that seems to have it out for me. This is on me. My bad. 

 

How did I manage it?  _ How  _ exactly did I manage to crash a car on an empty dirt road without a single clear obstacle?  _ Forensics _ would have a tough time trying to crack that one. 

 

Waiting. Waiting for a rescue. Phone's dead. Nobody to call anyway. As  _ if _ I've got anybody to come to my rescue. I've not even got insurance. 

 

My only shot at reaching civilisation again is pretty myself up enough for a passerby to pick me up. Hitchhike. A situation I had really  _ hoped  _ I’d never have to be in, but like I said, here we are.

 

Car after car drive past. A old van packed with drunks, screaming out from the windows. They scream directly at me, but don't slow down. Little bit of a relief, I wouldn't want to ride with them anyway. But beggars can't be choosers. 

 

Even small, mild mannered cars putt their way down the road, ignoring the poor sap standing half dead on the sidelines. What caring American citizens. Wouldn't lift a finger to help their fellow man. What was it that uncle Ben used to say? If you've got the _ power _ to do good, you've got a  _ responsibility _ to do good. I think. Something like that. I forget. It's not like it's something that comes up every day, but it sure applies here. 

 

7 red cars, and 4 blue cars pass, (and one yellow car, too! What an occasion!) which may translate to about 2 hours gone, considering how quiet this interstate is. Until I spot a golden chariot on the horizon. My salvation. A red roadster came roaring down. Looked like it didn't have any business here other than to take advantage of the open road, like a luxury car commercial. Sleek, spotless red surface gliding along the dirt.

 

I leaped to my feet, throwing my arms like a lunatic in desperate efforts to grab attention, and for the first time, at last, I was successful. 

 

When it began its slow, I must've been sobbing of joy. It pulled over in front of me. 

 

First thing I saw was a boot. 

 

A very embellished boot. Like a costume cowboy boot. It crunched hard on the dirt floor. Then another just like it kicked out, heel swinging to the ground. The door pushed open fully, at last, so I could gaze upon my rescuer.

 

Young, smug features. A face I read to be about my age. Fine blond hair that looked like it might've been labored over, but at the same time looked  _ effortless.  _ It swept over to the side in ridiculous waves and curls. Thick shades rested on his sharp nose, and a little, coy grin curled his lips. 

 

“Hey, pal. You look a little roughed up.” He spoke up, and I was almost shocked by the absence of a southern accent. I guess the boots were a  _ conscious _ fashion choice. 

 

I guess that's better than being rescued by a dashing blond cowboy. 

 

“Johnny.” He outstretched his hand, grabbing mine and shaking with vigour, while I was busy taking in his features, mouth a little agape. 

 

“Uh- Peter.” I murmured, giving an accepting squeeze of his hand in response. 

 

His eyes weren't on me at all. Not for a second. Obscured by sunglasses, before he finally pushed them up to peer at the wreck over my shoulder. 

 

“Car broke down? That sucks, buddy. These roads aren’t easy on small engines.” 

 

He strutted on over to my carcass of a car, effectively pushing me to the side. 

 

“Buuuut you're in _ luck,  _ because I fix these kinda problems every day before breakfast.”

 

He gave a sympathetic pat on the fuming hood, before lifting it up.

 

A heavy plume of smoke mushroomed from the open hood, forcing the wind out of both of us. 

 

“Wow. She's  _ long _ gone. What did you _ do _ to her?” My  _ hero _ nosed through the smoke, hands wandering to the weeping machinery.

 

It’s completely busted. I’m never getting my deposit back. 

 

“Yikes- don't touch _ that-  _ isn't it hot?” 

 

“This baby doesn't run nearly as hot as I do.” He spoke smoothly. Which might've been attractive if he hadn’t winced, pulling his hand sharply from the engine immediately after saying it. 

 

I’d have given a cruel laugh, if I weren't so concerned about having to pay to  _ fix _ this death trap. 

 

“Oh, god... This car isn't going anywhere, is it? Great.  _ Fantastic. _ ” I brought both hands to my forehead, with a heavy groan. 

 

“Hey.  _ Hey _ . It'll be fine. It's an outdated car anyway. It's, what, your grandma's?” 

 

“Rental.” 

 

“Yeesh! Then what am  _ I _ doing here? Call the rental company!” 

 

Whilst sobbing to my unfortunate self, I held up the blackened screen of my phone. 

 

Johnny gave a long, drawn out sigh.  

 

“Where are you headed?”

 

* * *

 

 

_ Woo! _ Roadtrip!

 

I mean sure, I’m riding with a complete stranger, but I'm trying my best to look on the bright side here. 

 

Johnny seems nice. Weird taste in fashion. Great taste in music, though. Oh, and cars. Excellent taste in cars, albeit completely and totally out of my price range. Not that I'd ever invest in a car after  _ this _ fiasco. 

 

Way nicer ride than that tired old rental car, obviously. Convertible, so the blaring music was still drowned out by the wind hitting our ears.

 

My golden-haired rescuer drove fast, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the side of the car. I couldn't tell whether he was actively  _ trying _ to look cool, or whether this was just second nature. It had the air of  _ trying-too-hard.  _ Unfortunately, I've always had the air of  _ not-trying-hard-enough,  _ so I'm in no place to judge. 

 

Occasionally he passed a glance to me, grin plainly expressing that he knew I was examining him, and that he didn't have any objections to it. Clearly he _ knew _ he looked good. 

 

And that made me hate him a little. 

 

“So what do you do?” He piped up, turning the music down and closing my window, with one flick of his hand. “Let me guess. You're a professional driver.  _ Oh!  _ Oh! Wait, I've got it.” He snapped his fingers, pointedly towards me. “Crash test dummy.”

 

“Reporter.” 

 

Sounds better than  _ newspaper’s underpaid whipping-boy, _ at least. 

 

“That explains it. This was some kind of calculated trap, right? This is for one of your reports! If you wanted an interview, you could've called my _agent,_ you didn't need all the theatrics.”

 

“You’re implying that you're somebody worth reporting about?”

 

“Maybe I am.” 

 

“I thought you said you were a  _ car mechanic. _ ” 

 

“I never said that.”

 

“Oh, then I wasn’t listening.  _ Who are you?” _

 

“Johnny Storm.” 

 

“Is that your stage name? Never heard of you.” 

 

I lied. I’ve heard that name before. And I  _ knew  _ that face rung a bell.  _ Johnny Storm: _ Hotshot racer turned TV superstar.  _ And _ a modelling gig. I’d remember those blue eyes anywhere. He was nude on a billboard once, pretty sure. Ripped as anything.  _ Obviously  _ photoshopped–  Unless...  No. No. We’re not going to find out the hard way. We are  _ not  _ stripping celebrities we’ve just met. 

 

But it  _ would _ resolve a lot of bodily insecurities I have. 

 

It was a thrill to see Johnny physically deflate a little when I denied ever hearing his unforgettable name. I shouldn’t want to knock this guy down so much. He is, after all, my knight in shining convertible. But I’ve never been the best at expressing appreciation. 

 

“ _...Nevermind _ .” He mumbled, a little disheartened. His head perked up when the car began to slow, at last, at a gas station. We came to a stop, parked outside a corrugated tin diner.  Before I could speak, he jumped out of the car. I mean, literally jumped over the side. What? Are doors  _ uncool _ , all of a sudden? He bounced as he walked, emphasis in every step. 

 

_ Definitely  _ trying too hard. 

 

“Uh,  what are we doing?” I called after him, sat rigid in the passenger seat.

 

“Hey, if you don’t know who I am, then you don’t know my cash-flow, which means you can’t guilt me into paying for lunch.”

 

I  actually hate this guy.

 

* * *

 

 

He eats  big for someone so pretty. Maybe I wouldn’t’ve noticed so much, if I weren’t the one paying for this meal. But I guess it’s fair. Or it would be, if I weren’t flat broke and riding with a  _ celebrity _ . 

 

The burgers they serve here are  _ inhuman. _ Absolutely  massive _. _ Bigger than Johnny's  head , and that's saying something. 

 

_ “Hey! _ ” 

 

“Okay, I’m  exaggerating . It's roughly the same size.”

 

“You’re the meanest hitchhiker I've ever picked up, you know that?” 

 

“You mean you’ve made a habit out of picking up hitchhikers?”

 

“Usually just the  _ pretty _ ones.”

 

I gasp, bringing a hand to up to nurse the wound his words left in my chest. 

 

“Now who’s the  _ meanie _ here.” 

 

He kisses his teeth. I sigh admittingly. “You're right- I'm sorry.” It might not’ve sounded as sincere as I’d’ve liked it to, on account of a mouth full of food. I swallowed. “I really appreciate what you've done for me. I was pretty convinced I was gonna _ die _ on that road. I think the vultures were starting to circle.” 

 

“By the sight of your wreck, I'm surprised you're still kicking.” He emptied a sachet of salt on his fries, and flicked it to the corner of the table.

 

“Just _ lucky,  _ I guess.”

 

“I'm sure half of the country’s population would agree with you on that one.” 

 

Oh, yeah, I've got the privilege of riding with the  _ prince  _ of the world, here. 

 

There was a pause for food consumption, before I piped up again. 

 

“So… what's with the boots?”

 

“Oh, what, I need to justify my fashion choices to skeptical strangers, now?” 

 

“Your reluctance to answer only raises _ more _ questions.” 

 

“I  _ like _ these boots.” 

 

He kicks them out to the side of the table so I can get another glimpse of the garish orange suede, embroidered with golden thread. The small wince I release in response is nothing compared to the horrific grimace I'm withholding.

 

“They're definitely  _ unusual _ .”

 

* * *

 

 

I think I’m getting to like Johnny. Even just a little. He's something outside of what I'm used to. And I'm talking  _ way _ outside what I'm used to. It's like being on another planet, actually.

 

Where the atmosphere is composed of toxic, highly flammable gases. 

 

Honestly, I’m getting a little light headed. 

 

We're back on the road, and it winds for hours. And it's a constant fire of conversation. About  _ future _ , about  _ family _ , and all sorts of corny things we take for granted. Johnny’s family sounds  _ amazing _ . I talk about how much I'd love to meet them. He says it wouldn't be the first time he's brought a wreck he's found on the side of the road back home to the family. I punch him in the arm. 

 

The car swerves, and he corrects it effortlessly. And of course he had to look at me, and remark on how  _ this is how it’s done.  _ The smug jerk. 

 

“I could give you some pointers, you know.” 

 

“You could shove those  _ pointers _ up your––” 

 

“Jeesh! You're the only person in the world not excited by the idea of having a world famous racer teach them the way of the car.” 

 

“Maybe another time, _ Mr Miyagi _ .”

 

“Hey, when you’re ready to learn, I’ll be here, pal.” 

 

_ Pal. _ I think I might’ve mouthed that word, shaking my head. 

 

“You didn't tell me anything about your family.”

 

I snort.

 

“Not much to tell, considering there's not that much left of it.”

 

For a moment, Johnny's brilliant smile faltered, and he gave a genuine frown. 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

There was a small silence, broken by a warm pat to my shoulder. 

 

“I've got plenty of family to spare, so you're welcome to share.” 

 

“ _ Aw _ , I bet you tell that to  _ all _ the hitchhikers you pick up.”

 

“Just the  _ pretty _ ones.” 

 

“I’ve got a feeling, at the rate this day is going, a wedding proposal isn’t too far off.” 

 

“I’ll keep you to the manner you’re accustomed.” 

 

“I sure hope  _ not.”  _

 

* * *

 

 

Apparently Johnny and I have either become the best of friends on this trip, or the worst of enemies. An argument could be made for either. 

 

Kinda wanna watch bad movies and eat junk with him. Kinda wanna hit him, too.

 

Kinda wanna do  _ other _ things as well, but I've gotta draw the line somewhere. 

 

Best and worst part of today? Johnny Storm, the posterboy every tabloid likes to rip to shreds for his  _ impeccable  _ life decisions, has taken to giving  _ me _ life advice. 

 

And it’s not even bad advice, that’s the most frightening thing. It's advice I would've obligingly taken from anyone else. It's just that  _ he _ was the one giving me it. 

 

“I'm just saying, if you _ combed _ your hair a little, the girls might even find you  _ irresistible.”  _

 

Yeah _ , he _ can talk.  _ His _ hair is like… Okay, it kinda looks like feather down. I  _ really _ want to touch it. I shake my head to dispel the thought from my head. Johnny took it as my reaction to his advice, and persisted on.

 

“It's amazing what a little product can do. This scrappy, unmaintained teenage wimp look you've got is oddly charming, but a little gel could transform you into a  _ man.  _ Far less of a niche market.” 

 

Sometimes the need to hit him is stronger than the movie and junk food thing.  _ Way _ stronger. 

 

“We're like  _ the same age. _ ” 

 

“Exactly! Just proves my point about the _ magic _ of hair maintenance. I would  _ not _ be where I am in the world if it weren't for my hair.” 

 

“Look at us now, though.” I reclined a little in the car seat, turning my view up to the rapidly passing street lights. “We're in exactly the same place in the world, geographically. Isn't _ that _ funny?” 

 

Johnny snorted. I snorted in echo. He paid me a warm smile, and suddenly I felt grateful for whatever I had said that had earned it. 

 

“Look, I appreciate the thought, but I don't  _ need _ any girl advice, thanks.” 

 

“Are you gay?” 

 

“ _ What?  _ No. I'm not  _ gay _ .”

 

“So you're telling me  _ those _ pants are the pants of a straight man?” 

 

“What does that–– what's your problem with my pants?” 

 

“Nothing. I love them. In fact, I think I'm loving them a little _ too  _ much, and  _ that's _ the problem.” 

 

There's a silence, before he continues, as if anything he has to say would make this situation any less awkward. 

 

“They hug you just right. You look great in them.”

 

I gawked at him, but he didn't even turn to make eye-contact. Or he might've, and I just can't tell because of his dumb sunglasses. It's like 4 in the afternoon now. He doesn't  _ need _ to wear those shades. He's just being an asshole.

 

“Well-- I  _ do,  _ don't I?” I eventually said, in a confident tone of voice that  _ definitely _ didn't sound like an embarrassed croak. 

 

“You do.”

 

* * *

 

Sunset, and the path is winding. The small patch of road lit before us by searing headlights disappeared into cold shadow behind us. He brought the roof up on the car, to keep the dusk chill from reaching us. 

 

It's warm in here. Homely. I wonder if it's Johnny who's making it so warm. He almost  _ radiates _ light, even with his features cast in shadow like this. 

 

I've got a weird sense of _ belonging _ , I'll be honest. Like, I wouldn't turn down riding shotgun with Johnny Storm any time in the future. Feels right. 

 

Not going to say that aloud, though. Don’t want to make it  _ weird _ . 

 

“So I guess you can drop me here.” I speak up, a little hesitantly. We finally reached a town, at the turn of dark. The sun did a pretty good job today, he earned his right to set. Johnny did more than enough for me. I'll deal with my own disasters from this point. 

 

“Do you even know this town?” 

 

“I think I might've seen it mentioned on a pamphlet somewhere at some point in my life, maybe.” 

 

Johnny looked at me, incredulously. I groaned. I don't want to have to leave  _ that face.  _

 

“Look, I can manage. I'm a responsible adult.” I say, fumbling with the door and kicking my way back to sweet, dusty ground. “You've done enough for me here, Jim. I'll even get an article published in honour of your charitably towards unfortunate hitchhikers.” 

 

“You just want rid of me. I bet you're not even gonna call me.”

 

“You didn't give me your number.”

 

“Gosh darn it, I was  _ going to,  _ but you're leaving so soon, I didn't get the chance to write it down.” 

 

“You're bribing me to stay with the prospect of scoring your phone number?” 

 

He bat his eyelashes and tilt his head in a way that made me stare in disbelief. 

 

I feel like I'm part of some kind of social experiment. Celebrities pull this stuff all the time, don't they? Maybe if I pass the test, I'll win an iPad or something. 

 

“It's a good thing this is a convertible. If it were always roofed, I seriously doubt you'd be able to squeeze your massive head through the door.” 

 

The toothed grin I was paid in return could've been a knife to the lungs, because I lost my breath. 

 

Complete disregard for the repercussions of his dumb little actions. I officially  _ hate _ this guy. 

 

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” I began walking away, resolved in escaping the situation before I fall any deeper. “Too generous. Can't hassle you anymore, pretty boy. I'm afraid overexposure to you may ensue some kind of serious medical side effects. Great meeting you. Ta-ta.” I wave dismissively as I walk to the other side of the road. 

 

The aggressive sound of the car horn jabbed at my back.

 

“Hey!” Johnny called after me, hand gestures beckoning me back to the car. “What kind of  _ thank you _ is that? I thought you were raised better than this, Pete.” 

 

I scoff, dragging my feet back to the driver’s window of Johnny's car. 

 

“ _ Thank you _ , Mr Storm.” 

 

“For what?” Johnny said softly, leaning out of the car so the roof wouldn't impede his view of me. 

 

“For  _ rescuing  _ me.” I said, a bite of bitterness to my words, which Johnny must've mistaken for  _ breathless _ adoration, because I felt a sudden twinkle of warmth pressed to my cheek. 

 

Johnny's lips. 

 

Am I bitter? What have I got to be bitter about? Maybe it  _ was _ breathless adoration I responded to him with. I always get the two confused. 

 

There were a few swift seconds of golden boy’s breath on my cheek, before he pulled away, slipping something in my shirt pocket.

 

“You're welcome.” He said sweetly, and I felt like choking, all of the oxygen getting sucked out of my lungs in an instant. “And I was lying, I always keep it prewritten, just incase.” 

 

“...Boy.” I murmur out eventually, the heat of his lips still lingering on my cheek. “Such a  _ romancer.” _

 

“Try not to swoon, okay? And  _ call me _ . I mean it. I'll track you down if you don't.” He snapped his fingers, “Car crash court cases. I know where to look.” 

 

“Stuff it, you jerk.” 

 

I watch as he drives away, offering one final warm grin before he’s out of sight. I scuff in through town, contemplating whether  _ jerk  _ was the appropriate farewell to give. 

 


End file.
